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I can't see properly anymore through scorched tears.
Last night I lay in bed and thought about death.

The day before I was running around being a moron as usual. Laughing and joking on an alcohol-high and meanwhile...

The day I found out, I'd been feeling sorry for myself for no reason other than the way I listened to a CD while skipping hockey. No, I didn't know her nor even particularly like them, but fuck.

I couldn't make myself understand things were real. I felt guilty for my lack of a reaction. I talked to people as though nothing had happened. I don't think anybody noticed. I thought about using it as an excuse, then wanted to shoot myself. I don't think I'll ever appreciate anything. I don't want to forget this feeling.

Jonny came in and said he knew the people too. He was pretty shaken. Then Hamway stormed in to fire more BBs at me for his own pleasure. I told him to get the hell out, to leave me alone. I used it to my benefit to make him go away. I said they were my friends, which was wrong, but now I think about it, they were. He wouldn't believe me. Only after he realised I wasn't lying, did he leave - smirking, but I knew he felt ashamed. So did I. I had only just felt what it meant to me. I remembered what had really happened and how I'm usually so insensitive.

Then I felt so bad because I tried to stop the tears before anyone could notice. I wiped them away out of shame. I felt so bad because it took this for me to realise what had been done. I suppose that maybe, I want to be there so I can understand what it's like.

That day I'd been discussing Pol Pot, Stalin and Hitler.

    mood: empty
    choon: empty